


Pas de Deux

by chewysugar



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: 80's Music, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: People often wonder what the hot redhead reformed party-girl is doing with the former nerd who always keeps her waiting. But that's a secret only for MJ and Peter.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Kudos: 21





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by exile's 80's remix of Shallow, which you can find on YouTube.

MJ’s always found comfort in low lights and loud music. Back in the brutal days of high school, when she was something between a rebel without a cause and Molly Ringwald, she looked forward to each school dance with the same zeal as a POW being released to American soil. Dances were a time to get lost; dances were an opportunity to bury herself in bodies and sound until she went somewhere else entirely. 

Sure, those dances can’t hold a candle to this sort of thing—a proper social function in a big fancy dance hall with people she actually likes. Back then she was running from screaming matches and broken dishes towards the arms of anyone who would take her. These days she feels bad for the boys she was with in high school—who didn’t know her, but only the tough-chick with the ride-or-die attitude and a penchant for leather jackets and cigarettes. They weren’t bad guys because she was too savvy a teen to ever make the mistake of falling for a bad boy—for someone like her much-hated and estranged father.

They were worse.

They were convenient. Easy. Manipulated.

But they’re all meaningless in the face of her life now. A life she built so carefully and with such effort its a miracle she doesn’t have scars on her knuckles. 

Still, it’s not as easy to be the wallflower amongst the dancing throngs as all that. Most of them know her—Flash, Darcy, Ian, Angelica, Bobby—friends of hers from lives both working and personal. They see her as MJ: fierce, ball busting, sassy, thrill-seeking MJ. As for the ones she doesn’t know, they just see TV and YouTube’s Mary Jane Watson standing to one side with a drink in hand doing nothing but watching. 

Watching and waiting. 

A few of the more brazen men and women approach in the guise of going for the drinks and snacks lining the table at her back. They cast her swift grins, and she smiles back. But she’s not about to accept a partner because she knows hers will eventually show up. 

He always does when it really matters, and this—a fundraising party for homeless LGBT youth in New York City—matters quite a lot. 

A lively, 80’s remix of a popular song starts. The couples on the floor cheer, their steps getting faster and more elaborate from the prior ballad. MJ arches a fine eyebrow. She’ll have to tip the disc jockey extra when all is said is done. There’s not many who could remix Lady Gaga’s “Shallow” to a throbbing synth pop beat and have it sound as if it truly came from the annals of 1986. 

Flash Thompson saunters over. They’ve got a history, but it's one they’re only too happy to keep in the books. They’re different people—she’s not a broken bird with the shell of a party girl anymore, and Flash, contrary to popular belief, isn’t the same lug-headed neanderthal jock he was back then. 

Besides, Flash is here with—of all people—Angelica Jones. MJ is wiser than to let a fellow ginger ninja feel her territory is being impeded upon.

Still, Flash knows Mary Jane too well. He comes to the table and refills his and Angel’s punch cups. But MJ bristles a little because she anticipates Flash’s side-eye. And when, in the act of seeing if she’s right, their gazes lock, she wishes she’d just stayed looking at the strobe-light patterns and reflections of the mirror-ball. 

“This isn’t just a song for couples,” Flash says, ladling fizzy punch into the rainbow-patterned solo cup. “You could join the rest of us. We miss you out there.”

MJ shrugs. “I’m a kept woman.”

The chisel cut of Flash’s jaw tenses. He glares in the direction of the double doors leading out of the dance hall. 

“Well, if your little nerd doesn’t get his shapely ass here soon, we’re going to have a retrospective of the high school hierarchy.”

“So you've noticed Peter's assets?"

"Four years in the same change room, Red. And I'm not above caving it in no matter how good looking he's gotten.

"Oh please.” Mary Jane lets peal a laugh. Peter would wipe the floor with Flash. As Flash isn’t to know that, she simply soothes his savage beast and says, “You’re not that guy anymore, Eugene.”

“You’re right.” Flash smiles. “See? I’m not even triggered by my birth name anymore.”

“Aw, and you used to turn that pretty Barrymore nose of yours up at therapy.”

Flash rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m not trying to butt in, but it’s been like forty-five minutes since we’ve been allowed to cut loose and you’ve been here the entire time.”

“He’ll be here.” MJ smiles as she watches Bobby Drake attempt a moonwalk, much to the delight of Darcy and Ian. She knows Peter’s going to be here because this matters to her. And when it really, really matters, he always makes good. 

“Okay.” Flash regards her for a moment. Then, because MJ knows he can’t resist playing to the archetype, he attempts to sally forth in an act of chivalry once more. “I just don’t want you to miss out on this. You put the whole kit and caboodle together after all.”

“Kit and caboodle? Flash, you haven’t been watching the films of Ernst Lubitsch again have you?”

“Can I help it if I’m a fan of classic Hollywood cinema?”

“It’s fine, really.” MJ checks a watch she isn’t wearing. “The night’s still young. Assuming it is night. There’s no windows in here.” She casts him her million dollar, fashion-week smile. But Flash remains irresolute, watching her and oblivious to the fact that Angelica is now getting down no the dance floor with some rando from the crowd. 

“What?” MJ glares at him now. “I told you, Peter’s going to be here.”

“Alright, alright. I just want to make sure you’re looked after. No one puts MJ in the corner.”

“Oh my god!” Again, she laughs. Flash’s audacity is to be admired. Even more so because he’s one-hundred per cent serious. “Get your ass on the dance floor while there’s still song left.”

Looking as if he’s operating against his better judgment, Flash does as he’s bid. MJ observes him leaving, impressed that nobody elbows the drinks out of his hand. It’s nice to see her friends having a good time. They’ve all earned it. Ignorant as they are to the horrors of the world, she likes seeing them enjoy themselves. 

Anyone else would doubt. Others—maybe saner—would have given up the ghost after even the first kidnapping--certainly before any further ones. But MJ played the victim one time too many growing up. Sure, she panicked at first, when she put two and two together to make Spider-Man. But she’s refused to be cowed since then, no matter what the odds. She’s not about to give into something as fickle as second-guessing over being late for a charity dance. 

So she lets the whole scene hypnotize her like it did in her youth. The dancing bodies. The blinding lights. The techno music. She’s in a trance, falling away from the material and into the sea of electric oblivion. 

That is why she doesn’t see him arrive. That is why, when she comes back to the present, she’s watching Peter gently nudge his way through the crowd. She can tell from his gait that he’s hurt. 

At once, she’s pushing away from the table and entering the forest of dancers. She and Peter close the distance between themselves. All around them are oblivious party-goers. Above, a million lights reflected in the mirror panes of the sphere. And the music, still that heart-pounding, rapidly beating 80’s synth. 

Peter smiles a little. His eye is bruised, and the corner of his lip has a shoddy little slip of bandaging over it. 

The crescendo of feeling in MJ’s chest steals her breath for a second. He’s gone and gotten himself hurt again. She’ll find the miserable bastards and make them pay, is what she’ll do. She’ll storm out of this dance hall, track down the petty thug or mutated monster and give them a taste of her Manolo Blahnik's. 

Then the din lulls, and she remembers it isn’t her job. She’s got bigger fish to fry. 

Peter smiles apologetically, barely suppressing a wince. 

MJ slides her arms around him, being careful not to press too tightly. They fall against each other. He’s probably hurt more than what he’s showing, but that’ll be something to explore later, when they’re alone. She inhales, breathing in the smell of his body--he's splashed some cologne on but she can smell the fight on him.

“M’sorry I wasn’t on time,” he mumbles against her ear. “I’m such an asshole, huh baby?”

“Hey,” she says bag, swaying with him out of time to the fast pace of the music. “None of that right now, buster. That happens to be my boyfriend you’re bad-mouthing.” There’s something about him that always makes her want to cry, even when its not terribly appropriate. Even when it’s times like now, and she should either be yelling at him or just forgetting about the whole damn thing. 

His body shakes with laughter, but he winces again. Yeah, he’s probably screwed his ribs up—again. Depending on the severity, he’ll need to be bandaged properly—again. 

But she doesn’t care. 

Together, they sink into the special pocket only found on crowded, noisy dance floors. 

His hands slide up the skin left exposed by her backless dress. MJ doesn’t know exactly who’s leaning on who.

But that’s the way it’s always been with them.

**Author's Note:**

> I miss writing these two. Makes me wish I could finish writing the finale to my Extraordinary Spider-Man trilogy over on FF.Net. But I'm lazy. And I have a sinking feeling the new Tom Holland Spidey film is going to pretty much go the same route I was planning on so why bother when I can stick to digestible fluff like this?
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
